Christmas Woes and Mistletoes
by asylumsession
Summary: It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas.
1. Jingle Bells (Go To Hell)

_In which Lovino just wants to binge watch Netflix._ _  
_

 **A Christmas oneshot I scribbled down. Basically, Lovino is done with everyone's shit and just wants to go home. Also me trying out a new style.**

* * *

Lovino will willingly be the first to say that he is not, in fact, fond of the holiday season. Sure, it's Christ's birthday to him (and as much as he does _not_ act it, Lovino, like Feliciano, is a very devout Catholic), but that doesn't change too much. He makes a stop at church on Christmas every other year and that is plenty for him. Lovino, for one, much prefers to stay at home and binge watch Netflix (while seeing how much he can eat before he finally gets a stomachache).

Antonio and Feliciano, apparently, have made it their mission to make sure that he does _not,_ in fact, do _any_ of that.

Even worse, they drag him to a _party_ of all things. If there's one thing Lovino Vargas just doesn't like doing, it's socializing. Besides that, he's just really tired (actually, he can easily stay up all night, but that _ha_ _s_ to involve Netflix, otherwise he won't stand for it) and doesn't want to be here. All the noise is giving him a migraine.

The room is full of sharp laughter and disgustingly cheerful chatter lilts through the suffocatingly warm air. Lovino sighs and draws further back into his corner. (Feliciano and Antonio had both bounded off to visit with others upon arrival, leaving him to his own, _nonexistent_ , devices. It pisses him off, honestly.)

Lovino really just wants to go home. He questions his life choices again, wondering why he always allows his stupid little brother and that damn Spaniard to drag him places.

Clearly, fate or whatever hates him, because there is alcohol (and the idiots didn't even have the decency to get the good stuff). Technically, at least three people here are underage (his little brother and said brother's potato bastard of a boyfriend, for one, but he supposes the latter doesn't matter because he's German anyways and probably does this all the time), but just about everybody is drinking.

And so the singing begins.

At first, it just starts out as a few mumbled slurs here and there; buddies linking arms and swaying together to a nonexistent tune until they stumble, Feliciano trying to start a concert to _'All I Want For Christmas Is You'_ at the top of the staircase, Alfred serenading the Christmas tree.

Then he hears Antonio's accented voice (curse his boyfriend's _perfect_ voice; even when he was drunk, he sounded amazing) bursting into an all too familiar song.

"Dashing through the snow-" Antonio starts, loudly.

Lovino sighs and inwardly adds on. _Get the fuck out of my way-_

"Over the hills we go, laughing all the way!"

In the most sarcastic voice he can muster, Lovino mutters a, "Ha, ha, ha."

"Bells on bob tails ring!"

"I'll start a fucking fight..."

"What fun it is to ride and sing a sleighing song tonight!"

Lovino notes the very distinctive accents of Francis and Gilbert as they loudly chime in with, "Oh, jingle bells!"

Lovino simply thinks, _Burn in hell._ (Later, he marvels over the way it fits perfectly into the song and gives himself a rare pat on the back.)

With a sigh, he gets up and snakes his way through the crowd to locate Antonio. No doubt the other is with his two friends. Together, the three are nearly impossible to miss.

It seems as though Lovino is going to be the designated driver tonight.


	2. The Trouble With Mistletoes

_In which there's two so called enemies under the mistletoe._

 **Another Christmas oneshot in the same verse as "Jingle Bells (Burn In Hell)"; Heracles gets stuck under the mistletoe with Sadik. He pretty much says fuck it. Not that he regrets it.**

* * *

Heracles isn't much of a party person.

(He notes that apparently, Lovino isn't either, when he spots said Italian tucked into the corner.)

Sure, he likes going to clubs and the like (those kind of things usually end in one night stands), but it's usually because those people don't know who he is and he can forget about it all the next day. He's not one for things like Christmas parties, though. The dance floor with its shifting bodies and flashing lights is preferable to the cheap florescent and half wasted chatter here. (Not to say he hates a lot of the others; he doesn't mind most of them, really. He just wants to sleep at the moment.)

Honestly, he's not entirely sure why he's even here. Kiku asked him to come so he wouldn't be alone, but the Japanese man had been dragged off by Feliciano at the beginning of the evening and Heracles only spots him one other time, talking with a certain, cheerful looking Frenchman. Heracles isn't Francis' biggest fan, really. He supposes they get along decently, sometimes.

Currently, Heracles sits alone, straddling a chair and simply watching the other party-goers. He's slouching forward to rest his chin against the back of the chair, but his back goes rigid when he hears a too familiar voice. (His first thought is that _that person_ doesn't even celebrate Christmas; what the hell is he doing here? Then Heracles dismisses the thought, even if he doesn't at all like the idea of said person's presence.)

Heracles, hoping to avoid the other, slips back into the kitchen to get another drink. Gupta is in the kitchen, sitting on the counter with his legs swinging. Heracles raises an eyebrow; he wasn't expecting Gupta to be here, either.

Heracles grabs another drink and considers heading home, but Kiku is his ride so that isn't an option unless he finds the shorter man. (He doubts that will happen, either; besides, something tells him that Kiku will be taking advantage of the alcohol as much as everyone else is. A lot of people will probably end up crashing at whoever's place this is.)

Throwing a quick greeting to Gupta, Heracles slinks back out to brave the crowd again.

He only catches the singing dying down as he merges into the crowd, spotting Lovino weaving his way towards the very drunk Antonio. Heracles' gaze is drawn briefly towards Feliciano, noting the younger stumbling through the crowd with something in hand. Heracles can't see what it is from here; he only catches a glimpse of green.

In the end, he dismisses it and stays on his guard to avoid a certain Sadik. (A part of him murmurs that his luck isn't going to last, but he ignores it.)

Christmas isn't really his thing. Christian or not, he never really bothers with it. He usually takes the time to visit church, at least, but otherwise it isn't very different from any other day to him.

(Heracles makes a note to start listening to the little voice. It's usually right.)

His luck doesn't last. Heracles is wandering by the staircase, looking up at the lights strung over the ridiculously high roof (and wondering just who the hell managed to get them up there) when he runs smack into the man he considers to be his sworn enemy.

Sadik is (was) wearing that stupid mask, but apparently he isn't paying attention either and the collision makes it come clean off of his face. Heracles immediately fixes him with a steely glare, cursing the slight height advantage the Turk has on him. It always irritated the Grecian.

His hate for Sadik is very irrational, he knows. But they have never gotten along and he doesn't plan to start now. (He's trying his hardest to deny that one part of him that's saying otherwise.)

"Watch where you're walking," Heracles tells him, crossing his arms.

(Heracles knows he's at fault, too, but it's easier to place the blame on Sadik since he doesn't like him.

Sadik's face immediately twists into a scowl. " _Me?_ You watch where _you're_ going, you damn brat," he snaps in response, reaching down to pick up his mask.

Heracles takes the chance to step on his fingers and Sadik curses loudly, straightening up immediately. He lurches forward and grabs Heracles by the collar, yanking him up onto his toes. Heracles is very, very aware of the small gap between them. It irritates him. (A lot of things about Sadik do.)

" _Now listen here-"_

Sadik's words are cut off when Heracles catches sigh of Feliciano racing up the stairs to their right. The Italian halts directly over them and leans over the railing, one arm extending. Heracles catches sight of what the brunette is carrying.

Of course it's a mistletoe. (Just his crappy luck.)

Sadik's gaze strays up to see what Heracles is watching. Heracles knows Sadik doesn't celebrate Christmas, but the other spends enough time with the other countries to at least know the mistletoe tradition.

"Oh, _hell_ no!"

Heracles finds himself contemplating it. (He wonders why.) He peers at the green overhead for a long time, before slowly turning his attention back to the horrified looking Sadik. In that lethargic way of his, Heracles simply leans his head forward (a feat made easier now that Sadik isn't holding onto his shirt).

"You know, Sadik," he drawls, bringing the Turk's full attention to him. "that's the trouble with mistletoes. People notice who is under it and you want to give those people what they want, otherwise they'll call you a coward."

He closes that gap, lips melding naturally with Sadik's own and when he pulls away, the Turk is red and breathless. Heracles watches Feliciano speed off and decides he needs a new drink (stupid Sadik made him drop his other).

He leaves the very baffled Sadik standing next to the staircase.

(Although a few days later, when the Turk _shows up on his damn doorstep and kisses him again_ Heracles wonders what drove him to do it in the first place. He isn't complaining, he supposes.)


End file.
